And through the strong heart of his mate hath sped,
Then will he face the hunters all alone.
XLVII.
But soon the voice of men on the sea-sand
Came round him; and he turned, and gazed, and lo!
The Argive ships were dashing on the strand:
Then stealthily did Paris bend his bow,
And on the string he laid a shaft of woe,
And drew it to the point, and aim’d it well.
Singing it sped, and through a shield did go,
And from his barque Protesilaus fell.
XLVIII.
Half gladdened by the omen, through the plain
Went Paris to the walls and mighty gate,
And little heeded he that arrowy rain
The Argive bowmen shower’d in helpless hate.
Nay; not yet feather’d was the shaft of Fate,
His bane, the gift of mighty Heracles
To Philoctetes, lying desolate,
Within a far off island of the seas.
Book V.
The War
The war round Troy, and how many brave men fell, and chiefly Sarpedon, Patroclus, Hector, Memnon, and Achilles. The coming of the Amazon, and the wounding of Paris, and his death, and concerning the good end that none made.
I.
For ten long years the Argive leaguer lay
Round Priam’s folk, and wrought them many woes,
While, as a lion crouch’d above his prey,
The Trojans yet made head against their foes;
And as the swift sea-water ebbs and flows
Between the Straits of Helle and the main,
Even so the tide of battle sank and rose,
And fill’d with waifs of war the Ilian plain.
II.
And horse on horse was driven, as wave on wave;
Like rain upon the deep the arrows fell,
And like the wind, the war-cry of the brave
Rang out above the battle’s ebb and swell,
And long the tale of slain, and sad to tell;
Yet seem’d the end scarce nearer than of yore
When nine years pass’d and still the citadel
Frown’d on the Argive huts beside the shore.
III.
And still the watchers on the city’s crown
Afar from sacred Ilios might spy
The flame from many a fallen subject town
Flare on the starry verges of the sky,
And still from rich Maeonia came the cry
Of cities sack’d where’er Achilles led.
Yet none the more men deem’d the end was nigh
While knightly Hector fought unvanquished.
IV.
But ever as each dawn bore grief afar,
And further back, wax’d Paris glad and gay,
And on the fringes of the cloud of war
His arrows, like the lightning, still would play;
Yet fled he Menelaus on a day,
And there had died, but Aphrodite’s power
Him in a golden cloud did safe convey
Within the walls of Helen’s fragrant bower.
V.
But she, in longing for her lord and home,
And scorn of her wild lover, did withdraw
From all men’s eyes: but in the night would roam
Till drowsy watchmen of the city saw
A shadowy shape that chill’d the night with awe,
Treading the battlements; and like a ghost,
She stretch’d her lovely arms without a flaw,
In shame and longing, to the Argive host.
VI.
But all day long within her bower she wept,
Still dreaming of the dames renown’d of old,
Whom hate or love of the Immortals swept
Within the toils of Ate manifold;
And most she loved the ancient tales that told
How the great Gods, at length to pity stirr’d,
Changed Niobe upon the mountains cold,
To a cold stone; and Procne to a bird,
VII.
And Myrrha to an incense-breathing tree; –
“And ah,” she murmur’d, “that the Gods were kind,
And bade the Harpies lay their hands on me,
And bear me with the currents of the wind
To the dim end of all things, and the blind
Land where the Ocean turneth in his bed:
Then should I leave mine evil days behind,
And Sleep should fold his wings above my head.”
VIII.
And once she heard a Trojan woman bless
The fair-haired Menelaus, her good lord,
As brave among brave men, not merciless,
Not swift to slay the captives of his sword,
Nor wont was he to win the gold abhorr’d
Of them that sell their captives over sea,
And Helen sighed, and bless’d her for that word,
“Yet will he ne’er be merciful to me!”
IX.
In no wise found she comfort; to abide
In Ilios was to dwell with shame and fear,
And if unto the Argive host she hied,
Then should she die by him that was most dear.
And still the days dragg’d on with bitter cheer,
Till even the great Gods had little joy,
So fast their children fell beneath the spear,
Below the windy battlements of Troy.
X.
Yet many a prince of south lands, or of east,
For dark Cassandra’s love came trooping in,
And Priam made them merry at the feast,
And all night long they dream’d of wars to win,
And with the morning hurl’d into the din,
And cried their lady’s name for battle-cry,
And won no more than this: for Paris’ sin,
By Diomede’s or Aias’ hand to die.
XI.
But for one hour within the night of woes
The hope of Troy burn’d steadfast as a star;
When strife among the Argive lords arose,
And dread Achilles held him from the war;
Yea, and Apollo from his golden car
And silver bow his shafts of evil sped,
And all the plain was darken’d, near and far,
With smoke above the pyres of heroes dead.
XII.
And many a time through vapour of that smoke
The shafts of Troy fell fast; and on the plain
All night the Trojan watch fires burn’d and broke
Like evil stars athwart a mist of rain.
And through the arms and blood, and through the slain,
Like wolves among the fragments of the fight,
Crept spies to slay whoe’er forgat his pain
One hour, and fell on slumber in the night.
XIII.
And once, when wounded chiefs their tents did keep,
And only Aias might his weapons wield,
Came Hector with his host, and smiting deep,
Brake bow and spear, brake axe and glaive and shield,
Bulwark and battlement must rend and yield,
And by the ships he smote the foe and cast
Fire on the ships; and o’er the stricken field,
The Trojans saw that flame arise at last!
XIV.
But when Achilles saw the soaring flame,
And knew the ships in peril, suddenly
A change upon his wrathful spirit came,
Nor will’d he that the Danaans should die:
But call’d his Myrmidons, and with a cry
They follow’d where, like foam on a sea-wave
Patroclus’ crest was dancing, white and high,
Above the tide that back the Trojans drave.
XV.
But like a rock amid the shifting sands,
And changing springs, and tumult of the deep,
Sarpedon stood, till ‘neath Patroclus’ hands,
Smitten he fell; then Death and gentle Sleep
Bare him from forth the battle to the steep
Where shines his castle o’er the Lycian dell;
There hath he burial due, while all folk weep
Around the kindly Prince that loved them well.
XVI.
Not unavenged he fell, nor all alone
To Hades did his soul indignant fly,
For soon was keen Patroclus overthrown
By Hector, and the God of archery;
And Hector stripp’d his shining panoply,
Bright arms Achilles lent: ah! naked then,
Forgetful wholly of his chivalry,
Patroclus lay, nor heard the strife of men.
XVII.
Then Hector from the war a little space
Withdrew, and clad him in Achilles’ gear,
And braced the gleaming helmet on his face,
And donn’d the corslet, and that mighty spear
He grasped–the lance that makes the boldest fear;
And home his comrades bare his arms of gold,
Those Priam once had worn, his father dear,
But in his father’s arms he waxed not old!
XVIII.
Then round Patroclus’ body, like a tide
That storms the swollen outlet of a stream
When the winds blow, and the rains fall, and wide
The river runs, and white the breakers gleam, –
Trojans and Argives battled till the beam
Of Helios was sinking to the wave,
And now they near’d the ships: yet few could deem
That arms of Argos might the body save.
XIX.
But even then the tidings sore were borne
To great Achilles, of Patroclus dead,
And all his goodly raiment hath he torn,
And cast the dust upon his golden head,
And many a tear and bitter did he shed.
Ay; there by his own sword had he been slain,
But swift his Goddess-mother, Thetis, sped
Forth with her lovely sea-nymphs from the main.
XX.
For, as a mother when her young child calls
Hearkens to that, and hath no other care:
So Thetis, from her green and windless halls
Rose, at the first word of Achilles’ prayer,
To comfort him, and promise gifts of fair
New armour wrought by an immortal hand;
Then like a silver cloud she scaled the air,
Where bright the dwellings of Olympus stand.